The Horror of Our Love
by CieloCrimisi
Summary: An unknown killer seems to be targeting the employees of Fowl Manor while Artemis struggles to make sense of a strange and repetitive dream. Little does he know how closely the two are related... A twisted relationship ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This plot bunny was inspired by Blink-182's "I Miss You". I toyed with the story a bit and then realized that Ludo's "The Horror of Our Love" fit it almost perfectly. I love that song, eerie and disturbing as it may be.**

**Set after The Opal Deception, probably some time in the middle of Breaking Dawn, is non-Lost Colony compliant. Bon appetit.**

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Melancholy whispers greeted Artemis Fowl as he went down to breakfast one Tuesday morning to discover all the inhabitants of Fowl Manor unsettled and downcast. He'd awoken uncharacteristically late, having slept restlessly, and the weather outside was as gloomy as the atmosphere in the house. As he descended the main staircase barefoot, the stone tiles cold on his feet, he encountered the first sign that something was off. Two maids he didn't really know were conversing in a corner with Samuel, the gardener, in hushed tones. Artemis was startled to see that one of the women was crying, her hand clamped over her mouth as she tried to control her sobbing.

"Oh, my God, I can't even believe...How is George taking it?...The service is going to be on Thursday, did you say?...How horrible..."

Disconcerted, he slipped by them unnoticed and padded into the kitchen. The chef was absent, but he found Butler standing over the counter reading the newspaper, his expression grim. He glanced up as Artemis entered, his mouth set in a thin line. "Good morning," he offered halfheartedly.

"Butler?" Artemis said. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Norma Cornell was found murdered this morning, in an alley near Dublin Harbor. They don't know who the killer is. Everyone's pretty upset about it," said Butler with his usual frankness.

Artemis was shocked. "Norma? She's _dead?_" Butler raised an eyebrow but didn't make a dry comment about how "dead" was usually synonymous with "murdered", as he might've under different circumstances. He nodded silently and passed a section of the paper over to Artemis, who could see now that he'd been reading the obituaries. There it was: Norma Cornell, dead at age 67, survived by her husband George and her daughter Rebecca. In the corner was a thumbnail image of the plump, smiling woman who had worked as a chambermaid in the Fowl household for six years before Mr. Fowl had gone missing, and another three years after he was found again. She'd lived alone with her husband in one of the multiple small guest houses that the Fowls allowed their employees to stay in, her daughter having moved out on her own years ago.

Artemis was deeply unnerved. _Everyone_ had liked Norma: the other staff, Mr. and Mrs. Fowl, Butler. Artemis had never gotten to know her very well, but even he had tolerated her when she used to ruffle his hair and ask how his day at school had gone, like a kindly old grandmother. It was incomprehensible that such a senseless act of violence had ended the life of such a pleasant person. Artemis sat down at the table, head in hands, no longer interested in breakfast.

"Your parents have given everyone the day off," Butler said, explaining the lack of a chef, "but I can fix you up something to eat if you'd like."

"No, thank you," muttered Artemis. He sat there morosely rubbing his fingers over a faint scorch mark on the wooden table, reminiscent of a failed experiment he'd performed when he was four. An experiment, incidentally, that Norma, then newly hired, had cleaned up and helped him conceal from his parents, earning young Artemis' fondness.

Butler sighed and gave Artemis' shoulder a squeeze on his way out the door as he left to go perform a routine check of the Manor's security. Just because the Fowls had offered him the day off didn't mean that he was going to take it.

Having rather lost his appetite, there was nothing for Artemis to do but head back upstairs to his bedroom. He felt strangely numb, as if the whole situation were unreal, and if he laid there in isolation long enough the world would eventually right itself. He could think of nothing to do but sit in bed, staring at the blank ceiling. He'd never before had to deal with the death of someone he was attached to, not really. There had been Commander Root, but the relationship he'd had with the Commander had been one of mutual respect more than friendship. Of course, there had been plenty of near-misses. Dealing with his father's disappearance had been difficult, but Artemis had always refused to let himself give up hope that he was alive, and in the end his faith hadn't been for naught. Butler's "death" had been horrifying, but for the several hours that the bodyguard had lain lifeless Artemis had at least been able to distract himself with the task of ensuring that he didn't stay that way. This was the first time Artemis had been faced with the brutal, unchangeable reality that a person he'd known nearly all his life- had spoken to only yesterday!- was gone forever. Simply no longer existed, all at the whim of a random stranger.

Of course, Artemis didn't know that for certain, but that was what he theorized. It was hard to imagine that anyone who knew Norma could have wanted her dead. Artemis wondered what she could possibly have been doing in the city without George last night that would have resulted in her murder. Had she been doing some last minute shopping? Maybe she'd gone to meet a friend for dinner, and walked to her car alone through the parking lot? The more he dwelled on it, the more depressed he became. Even with Commander Root's murder he'd experienced closure; he knew who had murdered him and with what motive, and Opal Koboi had even been caught in the end. It was the utter pointlessness and lack of resolution that was bothering Artemis.

He could feel the prickling of tears and a hard lump in his throat, and felt horrible for Norma's husband and daughter. Their shock and sadness must be a hundred times greater. Lacking the energy to do anything else, Artemis rolled onto his side to sleep away his grief.

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**A/N: Good so far? Sorry, Twilight fans, there won't be vamps until later. How much later, alas, I'm not sure.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So. Here's chapter 2.**

The next day, Artemis reluctantly accompanied his mother on a cheerless trip to the department store. Angeline was concerned that she had nothing appropriate to wear to Norma Cornell's funeral. The only serious black attire in her wardrobe was leftover from Artemis Sr.'s memorial service nearly three years previous, and she flatly refused to wear it again. It may not have rational, but Artemis didn't point this out to her; he wasn't about to argue with his mother's feelings on that subject.

Normally, Artemis was bored to tears clothes shopping, especially when it was for other people, but his father had had business to attend to and he would've felt guilty making his mother go alone. So Butler chauffeured them into Dublin and followed the two around as Artemis helped his mother look for a suitable outfit. Angeline frowned as she browsed through the store's selection, making comments like, "No, this dress is far too short...", "This one is really more of a party dress..." and "Good _heavens_, look at the neckline on that blouse!"

It was exhausting work. The department store was more crowded than usual, the overcast sky and chilly October wind driving hoards of people to the mall in search of entertainment. Swarms of bodies pressed close and elbows jostled him, putting him in a rather irritable mood and making Butler extremely agitated as he stuck as close to Artemis as he could without stepping on him. It may only have been the uneasiness of being surrounded by so many strangers, but Artemis got the peculiar feeling they were being followed. Artemis studied Butler's face for a moment, but couldn't tell if his bodyguard felt the same way or if he only looked so hyper-vigilant because of the crowd. Butler hated crowds. So many people for a potential assassin to become lost in. Artemis put the feeling down to his paranoia and concentrated on not tripping over anyone.

Finally Angeline accumulated a pile of black clothing and went into a dressing room to try it all on while Artemis and Butler waited outside. Having come to accept hormones as an unfortunate but inevasible part of puberty, Artemis entertained himself by checking out the girls as they passed by. There was cute blonde with a ski-slope nose and green eyes walking by with a rather plain looking girl who looked like she might be the blonde's older sister.

A dark-skinned, exotic looking young woman of about twenty or so strolled by on her cell phone, jabbering away in what Artemis thought was Portuguese. If he looked out the door of the department store into the actual mall, he could see a girl with pale eyebrows and bluish-black hair lurking by the escalator with a group of her friends, taking drags from a cigarette and looking carefully jaded. Artemis thought she'd be pretty once she outgrew that ridiculous rebellious teenager phase.

The crowd thinned and Artemis caught a glimpse of an eye-catching redheaded girl about the same age as himself, sitting outside a dressing room on the other end of the store. She was too far away for him to tell if she was pretty or not, but she felt his eyes on her and turned to look back at him. He saw her lips twitch into a smile as she gave a him little wave and Artemis, embarrassed to have been caught staring, looked away.

Butler caught this little exchange and chuckled. "Why don't you go over and introduce yourself?" he suggested, raising an amused eyebrow. "She looks like she could use some company, hm?"

Artemis looked back at the girl and saw she was still looking at him, giggling. He was about to make a snappy retort to Butler's teasing remark when a tall woman dashed into the store and yanked the redhead girl right out of her seat. The woman, who must have been the girl's mother, spoke something harsh in her ear. The girl glared at her and said something back. Her mother shot an angry glower over at Artemis and Butler, grabbed her daughter by the shoulder, and pulled her out of the store, lips still moving furiously. The girl stole one last, longing look at Artemis over her shoulder as she was dragged away. Artemis was sort of flattered.

"Huh," said Butler, watching them leave. "Looks like you have an admirer." Artemis looked around the store and saw that only a handful of people were staring after the pair, looking either shocked or curious. He wondered what the girl had said to make her mother so angry.

Angeline emerged from the fitting room a minute later. "Alright," she sighed. "Finished. Let's get out of this zoo."

They paid for the clothes and drove home, where they were greeted by two uniformed policemen waiting in the front drive. Angeline stepped out of the Bentley cautiously and one of the officers stepped forward. He introduced himself as Officer Brennan and his partner as Officer O'Connel, and explained that they were there to interrogate the Fowls about the case of their former employee, Norma Cornell. Not that they were suspects, Officer Brennan assured them, but just to gather some background information for their files. By now, Artemis Sr. had returned home and could handle the situation, and give Angeline some moral support. So, Artemis and Butler felt no guilt in removing themselves from the policemen's presence and letting Mr. and Mrs. Fowl deal with it, Artemis because he was tired of dwelling on Norma's death, and Butler because he didn't want the local police looking too closely at his background.

Artemis made a trip to the kitchen to swipe a granola bar and headed toward a back corridor to avoid the policemen and his parents.

Once Artemis had rounded the corner, however, morbid curiosity overcame him and he paused to eavesdrop on the conversation in the room over.

"-Yes, yes it's very strange. We have yet to figure out how the time frame fits with Mr. Cornell's story," Officer Brennan was saying.

"It just isn't possible," said Mr. Fowl. Artemis could picture him shaking his head, his brows pulled together in consternation. "That's at least a two hour drive from here, maybe one and a quarter if you did some serious speeding. Maybe George was mistaken about the time?"

"We don't believe so, Mr. Fowl. He seemed to remember quite distinctly that Mrs. Cornell stepped out to walk the dog in the middle of Dan and Becs, which aired at 8 p.m. and again at 12 a.m. But the victim was found by the harbor at 8:47. Frankly, we're flummoxed. The information just doesn't add up..."

"Jesus..." said Artemis Sr.

Artemis wandered up to his bedroom and put on some classical music to drown out his thoughts. He wasn't really in the mood to work on any science experiments or toy with any of his electrical gadgets. He went to his closet and pulled out an old, oversize T-shirt of his father's and slipped in on over his polo, then wandered over to his desk and pulled out a blank canvas and a set of paintbrushes. Without really having an idea in mind, he painted broad strokes of deep navy blue over the canvas, leaving a patch of white in the bottom right corner for whatever was destined to become his subject. He blended the blue with a hint of undiluted purple, to darken the corners of his imaginary room. Artemis never used black to portray darkness; it was flat and made the painting lose its depth.

Painting night scenes had always had a hypnotic effect on Artemis. The rhythmic strokes of the brush, the sharp smell of the oil paints, the smooth texture and rich colors all combined, allowing him to become lost in a self-created world of shadows and subtle nuance. It was intoxicating. He gave his room a large window and added faint moonbeams, imagining them falling on the upturned face of a young girl. Artemis reached for the colors he always used to create flesh tone, and paused, considering. Instead, he grabbed the white and helio blue. His subject would be inhuman, he decided, mixing a touch of the helio to a glob of white to produce an extremely pale, icy blue, and adding it to his blank corner. He thought of the girl from the mall earlier. Her face escaped his memory, but he thought of her vivid coppery red hair, and added a splash of it to his painting. It gave an unexpected touch of warmth and spontaneity to his otherwise chilling silvery-skinned figure. He painted her eyes closed, fringed with auburn lashes, and a small smile on her pale pink lips.

Artemis put down his brush and took a step back from his painting. The girl looked looked a bit older than he'd intended, and the small smile was a little bit smug, revealing just a hint of teeth. She stretched languidly over the windowsill, soaking up the moonlight like a cat might bask in the sun. He dressed her in a flowing black dress as ephemeral as she was, chewing the inside of his lip in concentration as he tried to capture the exact texture of the cloth he envisioned.

Only several hours after he'd started, the painting was finished. He was pleased with it. It wasn't an exceptionally original piece, but it was beautiful, and for Artemis, that was the important thing. He hadn't created the figure to impress any collectors or critics, but only to indulge his own whimsical impulse. And the smirking moonlit girl had fulfilled her purpose.

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**A/N: Opinions, k plz thnx? I need motivation to keep going!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 3. Woot! So, remember how I told you to go listen to Ludo's "Horror of Our Love"? Seriously. Go do it. Youtube. It'll take three minutes, and it's just awesome how perfectly it fits. I challenge you to guess which parts I imagine as Artemis' and which parts are Maggie's. :) **

**So: Lyrics = Ludo's. Characters = Eoin Colfer's/Stephanie Meyer's. In case there was any confusion.**

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_I'm a killer, cold and wrathful._

_Silent sleeper, I've been inside your bedroom._

_I've murdered half the town,_

_Left you love notes on their headstones_

_I'll fill the graveyards_

_Until I have you._

I didn't mean to kill that woman night before last. I really didn't. It was absurd, the way your smell got to me, and then to stand over its source, _so_ close, and know that I wasn't allowed to touch it.

Absolutely _maddening_.

And then, just as I was using every little ounce of my self-control to drag myself away from you, lo and behold, that stupid woman had to come wandering straight into my path.

It was as if she deserved to be killed, simply for having the incredible misfortune to cross me when I thirsted more strongly than since I was a newborn.

Isn't life funny? Sure, there are a few rules that I'm obligated to follow along with the rest of my kind, but nothing I've really wanted has ever been off limits to me before. Not since my rebirth.

And yet, there you are, vulnerable, untouchable, and I've never craved anything more.

I hadn't even set out to go hunting the night my obsession was born. Still satisfied from the weekend's feeding, I'd gone running instead, enjoying the full moon and the strangely good weather.

The air was crisp and clear, and the sky was cloudless, but I could smell the tang of cold rain on the air. And you know Ireland - for every clear day we get there's a month of rain that follows, so I'd be damned if I was going to pass this one up.

(Did you catch the pun I snuck in there? I'm sure you can appreciate the irony, being such a master of it yourself.)

I know you humans can't fully appreciate nature in all its beauty, your senses as dull as they are, but you can trust me when I say that this night was absolute perfection.

Of course, you may have a different idea of what constitutes perfect weather. I imagine you and everyone in your manor was crowded around the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up. But you see, I don't need to worry about such trivialities as body temperature. I'm sure the biology of it would fascinate you, clever as you are, but now is not the time to get into it. I don't really understand it myself.

I digress.

So, there I was, indulging in some harmless exploring of the countryside. There are few parts of Ireland that aren't familiar to me, so you would think this would get boring after a while, but one thing I never tire of doing is visiting its castles. Towering, majestic, gloomy in their emptiness. I can wax poetic about them for ages with a tolerant listener.

Isn't it strange how few people seem to inhabit castles?

I mean, there you are, with your cozy little family of three, living in a structure that could easily house dozens. Even counting your servants, you've so much extra room it's ridiculous.

I always think of the grand old buildings as being lonely, needing light and warmth and laughter to fill them up. But they are beautiful in their loneliness.

I have visited your manor before. I spent two whole days there one spring in 1741, only a year after my transformation, lurking out of sight on the fringes of your property. I remember marveling at how little the people who lived there had been affected by the first Irish Famine.

Your many-greats grandfather was a generous, if underhanded man, using his ill-gained riches to ensure that even the lowliest of servants living at the manor had enough to eat.

I fed on one of the field hands while I was there - he tasted better than the rest of the malnourished masses.

You shudder. I imagine this disgusts you. Which is funny, because you have no idea how close you came to sharing his fate a mere twenty-four hours ago.

I'd decided to return, purely out of curiosity, to see what state the castle was in. It is still in shockingly good condition. The centuries have treated it well. It is just as eerily beautiful, standing illuminated on that moonlit hilltop, as it was two hundred and fifty years ago.

I was wandering about the stable when I scented it: the most heavenly aroma I've ever had the bad luck to stumble across.

I tracked it into the barn and to the stall of one of the horses, making the animals stomp and whinny in instinctive terror.

My first, irrational thought was that it was the horse I scented! That some sort of bizarre anomaly was causing the unlucky creature to smell more delectable than any human I've ever encountered.

This was silly, of course, and after a bit more sniffing I realized my mistake. Your scent was all over the animal, but underneath that ambrosial mask it smelled just as disgusting as any other four-legged beast.

I trailed the scent to the front door. I know you wealthy humans are fond of your electronic surveillance systems these days, so I moved as speedily as I could without losing the trail.

But it was a cinch to wrench open the attic window, follow my nose down the stairs to your bedroom…

And there you were, you delightful creature. Lying there so innocently, lovely black hair splayed over your pillow, your eyelids fluttering as you slept. Oh God, that _smell!_ It was everywhere! Like I'd stepped into a- a _cocoon_ of temptation.

You can't imagine how badly I wanted to kill you then. I sat on your windowsill and just fantasized about how I would do it. I wanted it to happen slowly, I knew that much.

I planned it all out. How I would walk over to you, bend down and gently tilt your chin upwards.

How you would begin to stir, murmuring as I woke you. You would gasp when you saw me. And I would rip out your throat before you had a chance to scream.

But Siobhan has two very strict rules about the humans our coven kills.

Firstly, the human must not be high profile. We may kill no one important, no one whose murder would garner unnecessary attention.

And second, the human may not be young. Siobhan has a soft spot for children, and pities the mothers left behind. Killing you would break both those rules to pieces.

Well, maybe not the second, as much. You aren't all that young. Older than myself when I was changed, anyway.

Ah, such a war my senses fought against my loyalty. Was the minutes-long pleasure of sucking you dry worth the God-knows-how-long anger of my coven, when they discovered what I'd done? It is no light thing to blatantly act against the wishes of a coven leader, especially when the leader is also your creator, and loves you as fiercely as her own child.

It wasn't fair! What had I done to be cursed with the presence of a prey so tantalizing, yet unattainable?

In an impressive show of will power, I ripped myself from your presence. I flew straight out the window, across the grounds… and right into old Mrs. Whats-Her-Name, out walking some silly little dog on a pink leash.

I made short work of her. I needed that feeling of predatory satisfaction, of being in control of who I could kill and when.

I didn't get it. I couldn't enjoy it. She wasn't you.

And now here I am.

Watching you.

Again.

I know I must not kill you, so there is no reason for my being here. I am only tempting myself by returning. But it seems I just don't have the strength to keep away.

I'm not sure how many hours have passed, but Siobhan and Liam will be wondering where I've got to, and after the chewing out Mother gave me when I followed you to the mall today I don't really want another confrontation. I should leave.

I lean over you, inhaling that torturous scent.

Goodnight, my sweet one.

_What I would give to sink my teeth into that fragile little neck of yours…_

That warm, sweet blood flooding my mouth, freed at last from the delicate membrane of your skin, almost as white as mine but infinitely more breakable…

Your life nearly ends right then and there.

I brush my lips against your throat, feeling your pulse throb.

You shiver, turn over. Your eyes flicker open. My fantasy coming to life before me.

And what strange eyes they are. One a light hazel, the other an intense blue, like the color of the ocean at its deepest.

Sleep confuses you, makes you the easiest target possible. Just one quick lunge, and you could be mine.

But I think of Siobhan. I don't linger.

For a second time, you escape death by my fangs by only a hairsbreadth.

You will live another day, if not for Siobhan's sake, then at least so I can continue to admire those peculiar eyes.

But I may not be so charitable the next time they close.


	4. Chapter 4

_In one of the most bizarre cases Dublin Metropolitan Police have seen in recent years, a young man disappeared from his parents' home in Dublin County at approximately 11:30 last night, only to be found murdered in Ballyduff, County Kerry, at 11:57 PM. The question of how the nineteen year-old could possibly have traveled more than three hundred kilometers in half an hour is a mystery that is baffling law enforcers and crime analysts alike._

_Autopsies indicate that the victim, Mick Cavanagh, was already dead of his injuries by the time he was brought to Corc Green and left in a utility shed, where his body was then discovered and reported by the park's afterhours caretaker._

_Officials have found no suspects in the case, but forensics teams continue to search for leads. Cavanagh, whose father is employed as a gardening assistant, is the second person this week to be attacked while living on the grounds of Fowl Manor._

_Norma Cornell, who worked as a maid, disappeared from the manor's grounds and was killed in a similar fashion just two days ago._

_"There is definitely a distinct correlation between the two deaths. We think it's highly unlikely that the murders are coincidental," said Police Commissioner Geoffrey Mullins._

_Artemis Fowl, 47 year-old businessman and owner of Fowl Manor, declined to comment on the attacks, but assured reporters that the family is "assisting police with investigations, and doing everything possible to prevent such a tragedy from reoccurring."_

_Thomas Brady_

_The Irish Times_

Artemis Jr. massaged his temples, feeling a stress headache coming on. The journalists hadn't been so interested after Norma's death. But now it had been two murders in three days. What a nightmare.

The manor was in a state of panic. The family chef had quit this morning, along with Ross and Megan Cavanagh, who had moved to live closer to the rest of their family in the aftermath of their son's death, so Butler was filling in in the kitchen temporarily. As if the Fowls needed to be worrying about hiring household employees now, when they were up to their eyeballs in police investigators and local news reporters. Speculations about the "Fowl Manor Serial Killer" and scandalous newspaper articles making jokes about "murders most Fowl" were beginning to run rampant. Tension was high as the remaining manor employees waited with baited breath to see when and if there would be another attack.

The ancient grandfather clock began to chime the hour from five feet behind Artemis, startling him out of his brooding. Butler slipped quietly into the study and set a tea tray on the corner of Artemis' desk. The boy glanced up as he approached and Butler's eyebrows rose.

"Thank you," Artemis muttered.

"You're welcome. Are you feeling alright, Artemis? You look like you haven't sleep a wink."

Artemis rubbed his bloodshot eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "I'm fine. Bit of insomnia, is all."

Butler frowned, ever the mother hen. "Hm. So long as you're not coming down with anything. Why don't you go take a nap?"

Artemis sighed, leaned back from his desk and took a sip of tea. "I might." The bodyguard glanced at the open newspaper and knew the murders were weighing heavily on his mind, same as they were everyone else, but didn't know what he could say to make anything better, so the elephant in the room remained unmentioned.

In the past three days, Butler had changed the locks on all the doors and downstairs windows, updated the manor's security software, and spent many ultimately fruitless hours poring over surveillance tapes from the nights of the attacks. They had shown no sign of anyone lurking around the grounds. Though it was true that Artemis and Artemis alone was his responsibility, the bodyguard was beginning to feel frustrated with himself for allowing this to happen on the property he was meant to be guarding.

"Butler," said Artemis rather suddenly. "The lock on the window in my bedroom is broken."

Butler's eyes narrowed. "That's a problem. When did that happen?"

"I'm not positive. I only noticed this morning."

The big man stared at him. "I suppose it's kind of an old lock," he said slowly. "Do you think maybe it happened the last time you were latching it up?"

"No," said Artemis immediately, causing Butler to raise an eyebrow. Artemis stared at the carpet, trying to think back to when it was warm enough to have wanted the window open. "I highly doubt it," he amended. "It... You ought to see it. I can't fathom what happened to it. And, I..."

"And you...?" The look on the boy's face unnerved Butler. It wasn't often that Artemis Fowl was unable to fathom something.

Artemis grimaced. "Never mind. Here, I'll show you."

He had nearly told. Nearly. But this insane hunch of his had no merit. It was a silly nightmare, that was all. What was he going to do, go crying to Butler that he'd dreamed about a girl in his room, kissing his neck? He knew the reaction that would get. A teasing smile. A lecture. "You know, Master Artemis, when a boy reaches a certain age..." It seemed like such an innocent thing to dream. How could he possibly justify the horrible chills that had come over him, the prickling fear he'd felt lying in the dark, hours after he'd awakened?

Artemis' feet carried him to his room on autopilot, Butler close behind. It must have been Norma's murder, still bothering his subconscious. Any psychiatrist would agree that the past week's events were enough to give anyone unpleasant dreams.

They reached Artemis' bedroom and Butler experimentally slid the window in question up and down a few times. After a minute he closed it tightly, flipped the latch, and tried opening it again. The window opened without resistance. Frowning, Butler examined it more closely and found that the lock was not actually attached to the bottom of the window frame. There were four tiny holes where the screws holding the lock in place had been torn out.

"How in the name of-" He trailed off. "Are you sure this didn't happen last time you closed it?"

"You think I managed to open my window with such force that the lock was ripped straight from the wood?" said Artemis in slightly mocking tones.

Butler had to admit that it was unlikely. That frame wasn't going to rot away any time in the next century, and the lock had been installed no more than, what, eight years ago? "But you realize this had to have happened from the inside..." Butler ran his fingers over the sill and paused. "What happened here?" he said.

Artemis studied the spot he indicated. "What do you mean?"

"Here, feel this."

Artemis felt the spot for himself, and realized that eight extremely shallow indents ridged the polished wood. "I don't know." His words were clipped, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. He hated not having a clue what was going on. He had no recollection of doing anything that might have dented the windowsill. Slowly, he brushed the sill with his hand again, letting his fingers rest in four of the grooves. There was a pause in which Artemis and Butler knew they were both thinking the same thing:_ Impossible._

It was Butler who voiced this thought. "No one's fingers alone could have left those marks. You know that."

"Mm." Artemis' expression didn't change. He simply stared at his fingers - they were too large to properly fit the indents. "Butler, when you were reviewing the surveillance footage, did you by chance check the stills from the cinecamera over the main entrance?"

"I did. Just to be sure. Not a body in sight." Butler looked at his employer quizzically. "You suspect the fairies are killing off employees?"

Artemis sat down on his bed, fingers drumming on the duvet as he thought about it. "Perhaps. 'The question of how a nineteen year-old could have traveled three hundred kilometers in half an hour is a mystery baffling law enforcers and crime analysts alike,' after all," he quoted dully. "That would be one aspect of the mystery cleared up. Though I can't imagine what the People's motive in doing so might be."

"Intended to send a message of some sort?" Butler suggested. "Whoever it is is either totally inept at hiding bodies, or can't be bothered with covering his tracks. And if the latter's the case... well, that would be worrisome."

"Worrisome indeed," said Artemis to himself as the bodyguard turned to leave.

"I'll be in with a replacement in a little while." Butler hesitated when he reached the doorway. "Just the same, Artemis, I would prefer it if you didn't stay the night in here. There's something odd going on, and it can't hurt to be careful." His eyes were narrowed, as if he expected to meet with some contention from his charge. But Artemis only nodded.

"Very well," he said. "I will take up a guest room for the time being." Butler had no idea exactly how odd.

Artemis walked out to the main entrance and detached the high resolution camera that had sat, dutifully keeping watch over the shoulder of a stone cherub, ever since the Fowl Manor siege. When he returned with it to his bedroom he found Butler kneeling beside an open toolbox, busy drilling new holes to accommodate the new and advanced window lock that glinted on the floor beside him.

"May I ask where you're planning to set that up?" he said, spying the camera in the boy's hands.

"I was thinking the bookshelf would do nicely." Though he didn't fully understand his reasoning, Butler commended this security-conscious attitude. He gave an approving nod before returning to his work, and Artemis began setting up the camera to stream directly to his laptop, wishing that he had more than one. He wasn't fully satisfied with the result. The length of the room meant the camera could only see the window and half of the doorway, no matter what angle it recorded from, but until he could find the time to purchase another one, it would have to do.

Artemis leaned back in his seat and regarded his laptop with an air of readiness. If anything was going on in his bedroom tonight, this time he would know about it.


End file.
